


Giddiness, Followed by Levitation

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose needs an escort to the biggest party of the year.  When Uncle Charlie agrees to go, she decides to see just how far he'll go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giddiness, Followed by Levitation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 [Samhain Smut](http://samhain-smut.livejournal.com/) fest on livejournal. Thank you to [traintracks](http://traintracks.livejournal.com/) for the endlessly enthusiastic cheerleading and beta and to [arjd](http://arjd.livejournal.com/) for the additional beta and Britpick.
> 
> I meant for this to be a short, simple PWP. Then lots of UST and dirty talk happened. Imagine that. (October 2013)

It was just Rose’s luck that the moment she was dressed like a giant Billywig, trying to look as unattractive as possible, Uncle Charlie showed up out of nowhere for dinner. 

Three years he’d been gone this time. She’d barely had breasts the last time he was in town. And now that she did, she was wearing a shapeless blue sack of a costume that concealed them entirely. Not to mention the drooping stinger or the ridiculous neck ruff that was meant to be her wings.

She could have died right there.

She had harbored a crush on Uncle Charlie for years. She didn’t remember a time when his presence hadn't made her blush. And honestly, he had only gotten better with age. He must have been in his fifties now, but he was still rugged and ripped with muscle and had Merlin knew how many tattoos and scars under the ancient Weasley jumper that clung to his chest and biceps like butter on bread. It was a good thing he was already seated at the table because one glimpse of beat-up jeans hugging his stocky legs would have been enough to make Rose's head explode.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said in that gentle way of his, that somehow also sounded like a proposition. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. 

She didn't have time to respond — a blessing, considering all she could think to say was _‘wuhh’_ — because her father, as usual, immediately started fussing at her. 

"You can just go right back upstairs and take that off," he said, piling a large helping of potatoes on his plate. "I told you, you’re not going, and that’s final."

If Rose had learned anything over the years, it was that nothing was ever final when it came to her dad. Well, some things were, but in this case, he just needed a little persuasion. And yeah, she had a huge crush on Uncle Charlie, and yeah, part of her would love to stick around the house and ogle him. But snagging an invitation to this party had been one of the most exciting things to happen to her all year.

"Dad, I have to go!" she whinged. "How can you not understand what a big deal this is? The McLaggens’ Hallowe’en Gala is massive. Everyone will be there." She decided to appeal to his inner fanboy. "Rafe O’Bannion will be there. I bet I could get his autograph for you."

"Nobody wants Rafe O’Bannion’s autograph," Dad grumbled. "What a bloody ponce, the Cannons are better off without him."

Rose sighed. Maybe O’Bannion hadn’t been the best material for bribery. True, he had given the Cannons a brief and rare moment of glory, but Dad never had forgiven him for selling out to the Wimbourne Wasps mid-season. Temporarily defeated, Rose attempted to throw herself dramatically into the chair beside Uncle Charlie, but her stinger got in the way, so she stood instead, helping her plate. She’d need a little food in her stomach because she fully intended to have a few drinks at the party, which she _would_ be attending.

"I don’t understand what the big deal is," said her mum, passing her the peas. "It will just be a bunch of older people hobnobbing and acting like they’re better than everybody else." A thoughtful look crossed her face before she continued, "Although I suppose it couldn’t hurt with your job search… assuming anyone’s sober enough to remember your name come Monday."

"Right — see, Dad!" Rose said, adopting her mother’s cool-headed reason. She carried her plate to the kitchen counter to stand and eat. "It’s an excellent networking opportunity."

Dad snorted. "What kind of networking can you do, dressed like a—" He waved his fork in her direction. "—what are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"Looks like a Billywig to me," Uncle Charlie guessed correctly. Rose’s cheeks flushed again under his scrutiny. His gaze seemed to be primarily focused on her legs, which she’d covered in blue fishnet stockings, ending in a pair of sparkly high heels. Uncle Charlie craned his neck to get a look at her rear end. "Though the stinger isn’t really in proportion." He looked up with a smirk.

At that, Rose’s face wasn’t the only thing getting hot. But she wouldn’t get anywhere with her dad if she stood there getting all worked up over Uncle Charlie. She cleared her throat. "Well… Margie McLaggen dared me to come as an insect of some sort." She shifted uneasily, suddenly very focused on cutting her pork chop. She’d never been a good liar. And while this wasn’t technically a lie — Margie _had_ dared her — Rose had never intended to actually show up at the party in this precise costume. This was just what she was wearing to get past her dad.

He figured that out in about two seconds, of course. Sometimes Rose really hated having a father who was in law enforcement. With a _hmph_ , he pulled out his wand. " _Revelio!_ " he snapped.

"Dad!" Rose barked, nearly dropping her fork and knife. "What the—?"

"Just checking," he mumbled. "Wouldn't be the first time, you know." Rose thought she was in the clear, but no, he narrowed his eyes and tried again. " _Transfiguro costumo!_ "

"DAD! That's not even a real spell!" She pinched the bridge of her nose, mortified to be subjected to this display in front of Uncle Charlie. "I cannot believe you were instrumental in implementing a new world order."

"Oi!" Dad yelled back. "You've created more ridiculous spells than that to get around your mum and me. Empty your bag," he demanded, flicking his wand in the direction of her blue sequined handbag.

"Now, Ron," Mum thankfully interceded at last, "that's going a bit far, don't you think?" 

Mum spoke gently, but Dad nevertheless did not seem to appreciate having his train of interrogation derailed. "Look," he said, using his Big Bad Auror voice, "it doesn’t matter how you’re really dressed underneath that get-up, or what kind of slinky nonsense you’ve got stashed in that bag to change into." Rose released a high-pitched sound of protest, but Dad went on, "I said you’re not going, and I mean it. End of discussion."

Ah, so he'd gotten to the 'end of discussion' routine. That meant they were getting somewhere. It was a progression. Dad always started with _'that's final'_ before moving to _'end of discussion'_. With some careful maneuvering, Rose could easily get from here to _'well, don't blame me if/when…'_. And everyone knew that was, for all intents and purposes, a yes.

However, Rose was running out of tricks. So she decided a personal attack was the only thing that was going to move the 'discussion' forward. "Honestly!" she snapped. "You just don’t want me to go because Mum went to some stupid party with Mr. McLaggen, like, a million years ago."

All right, maybe that was going too far. Dad's ears turned puce, and his mouth worked soundlessly. 

Fortunately, before sound could return to him, Mum cut across in her cool voice, " _We_ are concerned about you going by yourself, Rose, as any reasonable parent would be." She took a sip of water. "Frankly, I can’t believe you’d want to go all by yourself."

"I _wanted_ to go with Roxy, you know that! But then she had to go and shatter her kneecap the day before the biggest party of the year." Rose did feel guilty about going to the party when she should have been at St. Mungo's entertaining a recuperating Roxy, but Roxy had insisted she go on. And Roxy _had_ been sort of loopy from the pain draught when Rose had visited her earlier in the day.

"I seriously doubt it’s the biggest party of the year," Mum said, giving her a look of skeptical amusement. Rose hated that look. "And you’re telling me there’s no one else you can ask to go with you?"

"I did. Most of my friends are going to some stupid dance club," Rose replied, rolling her eyes. "They probably won’t even dance, just sit around giggling and making googly eyes at boys who wouldn’t know the first th—" She cut herself off abruptly, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into her mouth.

"Wouldn’t know the first thing about what?" Dad inquired, eyes narrowing.

"About anything but being immature prats," Rose mumbled. At that, she chanced a glimpse at Uncle Charlie. She bet he would know exactly how to make a girl feel good. Really good. He was looking at her curiously, as though he knew what she was thinking. He took a sip of Butterbeer, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Then his tongue slowly licked the excess moisture from his upper lip, and Rose felt sparks shoot down her spine. She turned back to her mother. "Why don’t you trust me?" she groaned breathlessly.

Mum shook her head. "Rose, it’s not you we don’t trust. Don’t you understand that?

"No, I don't," Rose grumbled. "I mean, what could possibly happen?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, though, she realized how naïve she sounded, and how futile it was to argue with her mother over this point. There was only one solution, as far as Rose could see, although she felt more than a little pathetic bringing it up, mostly because it would hurt to be shot down.

She swirled her Butterbeer around, watching it fizz at the motion. "What if Uncle Charlie comes with me?" she asked quietly. When no one immediately protested, she looked up. Uncle Charlie had just taken a large bite of something, and he stopped chewing for a moment, mouth full, as all eyes turned to him. "You know," Rose soldiered on, "like a... bodyguard. Of sorts."

After a few long moments of silence, when Rose was sure that Uncle Charlie was going to bust out laughing at her, her dad started to chuckle instead. "Charlie doesn’t want to go to a party hosted by Cormac bloody McLaggen any more than I do," he said.

Uncle Charlie shifted in his chair. Rose realized she was putting him on the spot, and honestly, she didn't expect to him say yes. Getting to go to the party _and_ getting to spend the evening with Uncle Charlie? That would be too good to be true.

"I don’t have a costume," Uncle Charlie said at last.

Rose brightened a little bit. Maybe he was just trying to let her down easy, but it wasn't a flat-out _no_. "You _are_ a costume, Uncle Charlie," she said, flashing him a smile. "You can go as a badass dragon tamer."

"Dragon _keeper_ ," he corrected her tersely.

"Either way," Rose said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I bet most of the old" —she cursed inwardly at her blunder and tried to soften it— "er, old _er_ people won't be wearing costumes, anyway. Probably just boring old dress robes and masks."

Uncle Charlie pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, scratching idly at the red stubble on his chin. "I don't have dress robes, either," he pointed out.

Mum gave Uncle Charlie an assessing look. "You know, Charlie, Hugo's dress robes would probably fit you." 

She was right; Hugo's dress robes would definitely fit Uncle Charlie. Rose's brother was a freak of nature. Nobody knew how he ended up big as a bloody gorilla, but suffice it to say there were already a few Quidditch teams scouting him for Beater — a waste of time, considering all he wanted to do with his life was play oboe in a chamber orchestra. What a dork.

"And I’m sure we have a mask around here somewhere," Mum continued. She paused. "If you wanted to go, that is."

Rose held her breath. Once again — and surely this wasn't solely her imagination — Uncle Charlie's gaze drifted over her legs. She was unable to keep from bouncing on the balls of her sparkly blue shoes. "So if Uncle Charlie goes, can I go, Dad?"

Her father tossed his napkin onto the table, putting his hands up. "If you really want to ask Uncle Charlie to spend his only night in England at a party with a bunch of stuffy bigwigs, then that's on you. But don't blame me when you're both bored to tears and stuck listening to some Neanderthal boast about his Gringott's account all night."

At last! "Please, Uncle Charlie?" Rose begged. "Margie McLaggen’s always bragging about her parents’ parties. I’ve wanted to go for years." Just for good measure, she fiddled with the hem of her costume where it cut across her thighs. When his eyes narrowed briefly, she knew he'd gotten a peek of the lacy top of her stocking.

He rolled his napkin between thick, heavily calloused fingers. "Well, I’m not usually one to say no to a little adventure."

"Don’t hold your breath on that front," Dad said.

Then Uncle Charlie's gaze traveled slowly up her costume and settled right on her eyes. He seemed to be giving her a faint smile, but it was hard to tell. "And you think they'll let a brute like me through the door?" he inquired, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly.

"Oh yeah," Rose replied. It was now impossible to hide the breathy edge to her voice. Her mouth had gone dry. "You'll be my plus one."

* * *

From what Rose had heard, Uncle Charlie sometimes had trouble with the "Destination" part of Apparition. And he wasn't familiar with where they were going. So when Rose suggested they go Side-Along, he took her arm without a fuss.

This was all very fortunate, considering Rose had an important side trip to make on the way.

They slammed to their feet inside a cramped building with a miniature door and windows and several walls lined with boxes. Uncle Charlie's eyebrows knitted together as he surveyed the small space, which was illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through one of the windows. 

"The way you talked this party up, I'll admit I was expecting something a little grander," he said.

"We're in Roxy's old playhouse," Rose explained, digging elbow-deep in her tiny sequined bag for her wand. "I've got to fix my costume." When he moved to rummage around in one of the boxes, she hissed, "Watch out for those! There's no telling what Uncle George has got stashed out here."

Uncle Charlie tilted his head to the side, giving her a look that clearly meant, _Are we seriously doing this?_ "I'll just wait outside, yeah?" he said.

"No, you can't!" Rose exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm. It was a ridiculously solid arm. She could barely wrap her fingers around half of his bicep. She fought back a whimper at the thought of what he could do with those arms. "If someone's home, they might see you out there," she said. She shifted from foot to foot. "Anyway, I kind of need your help."

"How so?" he said, a note of impatience in his voice.

Rose suddenly felt nervous, standing there in her horrendous Billywig costume, all alone in Roxy's playhouse with Uncle Charlie. He wasn’t much taller than her, but he had no trouble filling up the space. It was strange to see him in Hugo's dress robes. They fit perfectly, and bloody hell did he look sexy in them, but still. Seeing Uncle Charlie in dress robes was akin seeing McGonagall in jeans and a jumper. 

She took off the atrocious neck ruff and banished it. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned around, moving her hair over one shoulder. She looked back at him, her heart pounding against her ribs. She couldn't believe she was about to ask her uncle to do this. She could do it herself and would have done, if he hadn't been with her. But he was here, and she couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, especially since she’d probably never get another one like it.

"Unzip me?"

His eyes moved down to the zipper and then back up to meet hers, narrowing. "What?" he said, though he’d undoubtedly heard her.

Rose tried to play off her nervousness by rolling her eyes. "You saw Dad. He would've shit a hippogriff if I'd tried to leave in my real costume. I can alter this one" —she dropped her voice— "but I've got to take it off to do that."

"And you don't want me to wait outside." 

His gaze once again traveled the length of her stocking-clad legs. She wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he'd ever be willing to do more than look. Probably not. For pity’s sake, he was her dad's brother; she was crazy to even be thinking about it. 

This was the closest she could get.

"I seriously doubt you'll see anything you've never seen before," she said, unable to keep the petulant tone out of her voice. He'd probably seen dozens of women entirely naked. 

At that, Uncle Charlie met her gaze straight on. Without warning, he lifted his hands, and Rose gasped. Part of her hadn’t really expected him to do it. But there he stood, curling one hand lightly over her shoulder, his thumb brushing the bone at the nape of her neck. She tried not to lean back into the touch. He took the tab of her zipper between his other thumb and forefinger. He was surprisingly deft considering the size of his fingers, but he had been a Seeker, after all.

Rose held her breath. Her uncle was undressing her. Uncle Charlie was undressing her. She had to look away as he slowly eased the zipper down. The sound of the metal teeth seemed unusually loud in the small space. Rose wondered if he was holding his breath, too. As he reached the bottom of the zipper's path, the back of his hand brushed against the top curve of her arse and seemed to stay there just a few moments longer than was appropriate.

Rose could have melted into a puddle.

All she was wearing under the costume was her underwear. She chanced a glance back at him and found him staring at the skin he’d bared. Then, scratching at the back of his neck, he turned to look out the window, giving her privacy.

She didn't want privacy.

Part of her was terribly self-conscious. There were so many things she didn't like about her own body. She thought her belly and hips were too round, her legs too long for her torso. Her breasts were a good handful, but they looked nothing like the women in the magazines that she and Roxy had swiped from the adult section of Uncle George’s joke shop.

Another part of her desperately wanted Uncle Charlie’s approval. She wanted his eyes on her. He hadn't seen her in three years, and part of her wanted to scream, _Look at me, look at me, I'm not a little girl anymore!_ But he wasn't looking, and Rose didn't know how to get him to.

She shimmied out of the costume and set her bag down on one of the boxes. Then, steeling herself, she cleared her throat. "Can you, er… hold it up for me?" she dared to ask.

Uncle Charlie turned his head, not quite looking over his shoulder. He opened his mouth and closed it again just as quickly. Rose could hear her heartbeat in her ears, sure he was going to say no. Finally he released what might have been a huff of laughter. "You're kidding. Right?"

"How else am I going to be able to work on it?" she asked, hoping he didn’t point out the obvious solutions. She could lay it on the boxes. She could do a Hovering Charm. 

He paused for a moment and then, to Rose's great surprise, turned around. And there she was, standing in front of her favorite uncle in nothing but her bra, knickers, stockings, and a pair of high heels. A strange sensation overtook her, as though her skin was about to come loose and slide right off her body.

He didn't look down, though. "Well?" he said with a tiny smirk, holding out his hand. "Hand it here, then. Sooner you get this done, sooner we get to this party you've been dying to go to for years. Right?"

Rose’s shoulders drooped slightly. She was nearly naked in front of him, and he didn’t even bother to look. But could she blame him? What was wrong with her anyway, that she wanted him to so badly? "Right," she said. She thrust the garment at him and focused all her attention on it instead. "Back first." She brandished her wand, hating the way her hand shook. "Gotta get rid of that stinger."

Uncle Charlie held the costume up, level with his chin. "Not too concerned with realism, eh?" he joked.

"Hardly," Rose replied. With a flick of her wrist, the stinger vanished. Then she motioned for him to turn it around. "The neckline needs help," she mumbled as she worked. "And it could use a little more shape, to say the least...."

He said nothing. He didn't look down, and he didn't look away. He just watched her face as she worked. A few times Rose nearly ripped the fabric from the intensity of his gaze.

"So you're only in England for one night?" she asked, trying to make small talk.

"That's right. Had business with the Ministry and ran into your mum in the Pest Advisory Bureau."

"Yeah, we've had an infestation of Doxys in the laundry room," Rose explained. "Dad went for a pair of socks the other morning and got a nasty bite. Good thing we had the antidote on hand, really." Rose was rambling. She always rambled when she got nervous.

"And of course Mum's too much of a bleeding heart to use Doxycide like any normal person," she went on. "She says it's because she doesn't like the smell, but we all know that's a bunch of codswallop. We've seen her trying to gently nudge garden gnomes out of the herb garden for years." 

Rose laughed nervously, but Uncle Charlie didn't join in. Scared she’d offended him, she backpedaled. "But you probably don’t like to use pesticides, either, do you, caring for magical creatures and all? You don’t even stun dragons, do you? That’s so brave. Not that dragons are anything like Doxys. I mean, obviously they put up more of a fight. Not that Dad can’t hold his own against a Doxy, but I guess it caught him by surprise….”

By this point, she was beet red and extremely thankful for the relative dark. Blimey, somebody should stun her _mouth_. She managed to clamp it shut at last and put the finishing touches on her costume, which was now more of a metallic blue dress with a low neckline and cinched waist.

When she looked up from her work, she noticed with a jolt that, at some point during her ramble, Uncle Charlie's gaze had finally drifted below her chin. And now that he was looking, he was really _looking_.

"There's a time and place for everything," he said, and he actually appeared to be leaning to the side to get a look at her arse.

Was she imagining things, or was there something almost suggestive about his answer? Maybe he liked what he saw, after all.

"Oh," she replied, breathless. She was outright trembling. Then she realized it was because it was bloody cold in the playhouse. "I'm freezing."

Uncle Charlie smirked. "I can see that."

Startled, Rose glanced down, though she didn't know why. She was wearing an unpadded bra with lace cups, and she didn't have to look down to know that her nipples were hard and straining at the fabric. Apparently Uncle Charlie knew it, too. And he wasn't hiding the fact that he was looking. At all. In fact, his tongue darted out to wet his upper lip. 

That tongue might as well have licked right over her nipples, the way they hardened even further at the sight of it. She would have done anything, anything to feel his mouth on her. And was she going crazy, or did Uncle Charlie seem to be thinking the same thing? She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and find out for sure, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was sure he would reject her advances. Even if she hadn’t been his niece, he was so much older, more experienced. 

His experience terrified her as much as it aroused her. 

Then his gaze slid even further down, and Rose could swear she felt even more goosebumps erupting in its wake. His eyes were right on the crotch of her knickers — they _had_ to be — and she had a sudden, panicked thought that maybe he could see how wet they were. But how could they not be wet, the way he was looking at her? What did he expect?

"All right, I think that's as good as it's going to get," she said, voice nearly cracking. She suddenly wanted to put her hands in front of herself, to hide from him, but would that be even worse? "You going to help me get back into it or what?" she choked out, settling for crossing her arms over her chest.

His gaze finally, _finally_ lifted to meet hers. "Is that what you want?"

Rose was still shaking, but not entirely from the cold. What exactly was he asking? Was he asking if she really wanted his help? Or was he asking if she really wanted to get back into her costume? She suddenly felt emboldened by the slight chance that he could mean the latter. 

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and dropped her arms back to her sides, showing off her body to him. And she was not mistaken. She couldn't be. Uncle Charlie was looking at her now with a hint of greed in his eyes. He looked like he might have jumped on her right there, had she been anyone else. And she wanted him to. She didn’t think she had ever wanted anything more. She felt like her teeth might start chattering at any moment. "Or… I could stay just like this," she said, very quietly. "And we could… hang out here for a while."

He suddenly took a step closer to her. Rose tensed. He wouldn't really take her up on that, would he? 

"And do what, exactly?" he asked. 

"Oh, you know," Rose said, having no clue what they would do. She'd never really done anything more than some heavy snogging herself, and she seriously doubted Uncle Charlie would be up for that when he could probably find any witch at the party who would happily shag him silly. "Things."

He took another step closer. Rose started to feel light-headed and thought she might pass out. Uncle Charlie was so close that she could feel his body heat on the other side of the dress that he was holding between them. It might have been her mind playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn she felt the knuckles of one of his hands brush against the side of her breast. He was unmistakably looking at her lips, and for a split second, Rose's heart stopped as she felt sure he might actually bend down and kiss her.

But he didn't. He just gave her a faint smile. "I doubt you and I are into the same kinds of _things_ , sweetheart," he whispered.

Good Godric, he made it sound like a threat, but all Rose heard was the promise. The party suddenly seemed so unimportant to her that she couldn't believe she'd ever wanted to go. She wanted to stay right here. She wanted Uncle Charlie to show her everything he knew. She was scared to death of his kinds of 'things', yet she ached to experience them. "Only one way to find out," she said.

At that, Uncle Charlie chuckled dismissively and shook his head. Rose felt herself physically deflate. Where there had been goosebumps before, now she felt her skin flush in embarrassment. Tears burned her eyes. He'd just been egging her on. He'd probably known about her crush forever, and he had no intentions of doing anything but making her squirm. Making her feel ridiculous.

She might as well have been stark naked in front of him. That’s how she felt. How stupid could she get, stripping down in front of her uncle? What would her mum and dad say? They’d be horrified. She was horrified.

He held out her newly transfigured dress and nodded down toward where the back gaped open. "Step," he said.

Rose wanted to rip the dress to shreds. Instead, she stepped forward into it, her hand on his shoulder for balance. He didn’t touch her once as he zipped it back up.

* * *

Rose hated it when her parents were right.

It was one of the most boring parties she’d ever attended. It was official. Margie McLaggen was full of shite. She wasn’t even there. As far as Rose could tell, there was no one there even close to her own age. She was grateful for her mask, which she hoped added at least a few years to her appearance.

That was another thing. Nearly everyone wore masks, yet there was absolutely no air of mystery to the affair. All of these old geezers seemed to know each other and stood around in small groups chattering away about… well, their Gringott’s accounts, just as Dad had guessed they would. Their son’s work with International Wizarding Law. Their daughter’s latest book deal. Their country homes in the Lake District. Their great aunts’ rheumatism. 

If Roxy had been here, they would have taken one look around and blown this joint. Well, Roxy would have wanted to at least stuff some canapés in her handbag, so Rose nibbled on a few in her honor. Even the canapés were stuffy. The ones that Rose tried had some kind of marinated zucchini or something on them.

Who the hell marinated zucchini?

It was true that the McLaggens had spared no expense when it came to decorations. Their ballroom was decked out in autumnal shades of crimson, gold, and orange, with splashes of brown and deep purple here and there for emphasis. The moldings were draped with what looked like real grapevines, the tendrils and clusters sparkling with fairy lights. Instead of chandeliers, jack-o-lanterns wearing every imaginable expression floated overhead, their glow casting the revelers in a warm and slightly eerie light. Round tables lined the perimeter of the ballroom floor, covered in tablecloths of alternating hues, each one topped with an overflowing cornucopia.

Yes, it was lovely, and the robes and masks were all elegant. The music was decent and the drinks free-flowing. But overall Rose couldn’t help but feel gravely disappointed.

Particularly with her escort.

She stared across the room at Uncle Charlie, who sat by himself at a table near a back corner, nursing a bottle of nutmeg ale and looking more like a bouncer than a guest. He'd parked himself there the moment they entered the party, and he hadn't moved the entire half-hour they'd been there, not even to get another drink. And the way he kept his eye on her, he felt more like a chaperone than an escort.

That thought angered her, especially considering what had happened earlier. 

Now that she'd had time to think about it — and she hadn't been able to do much _but_ think about it — her shame had dissipated, leaving her just plain mad. Yeah, maybe it was out of place for her to strip down in front of him like that, but he had undeniably enjoyed the show. In fact, he could have stopped her much sooner, and he should have, especially considering she was his niece. But no, he'd just let her go on and make a fool of herself while he stood back and got an eyeful.

Even worse: he'd treated her like a kid. How could he know what kinds of things she would or wouldn't be into? Maybe she didn't have much firsthand experience, but she knew plenty about sex. Roxy was her best friend, after all, and thanks to Uncle George's business, they had unlimited access to all kinds of publications and products, even if they had to sneak to get to most of it. 

Uncle Charlie might be surprised by how much she knew about sex.

And so — propelled by righteous anger and aided by her second cherry cocktail thing — Rose decided she'd show him just how much she knew.

She marched towards his table, drink in hand, nearly plowing into Rafe O'Bannion on her way. As far as Rose could tell, O'Bannion had done little all night but bitch and moan about his contract with the Wasps and pitch a new line of Quidditch gear he was trying to launch. What a tool. It only made her more determined than ever to ensure that the night was not a total waste.

She expected Uncle Charlie to react in some way to her approach — sit up a little straighter, scratch at his neck like he sometimes did, or even get up and walk away — but he didn't. He just lounged in his chair with his arm casually thrown over the back of its neighbor, his other hand absently thumbing the sweaty neck of his bottle of ale. For a brief moment, Rose almost turned right back around. But by that time, she was close enough to see one ginger eyebrow arching over his black mask, and she wasn't about to back down from that challenge.

"Can I sit down?" she asked, nodding towards the chair at his side.

"Be my guest," he replied with a smile, though he didn't move his arm from the back of it.

He didn't think she'd cozy right up next to him. That was reason enough to do it, as far as she was concerned. She eased herself down into the seat, crossing her legs in his direction and trying not to squirm at the feeling of his arm across the bare part of her back.

Now that she was here, though, she didn't quite know what to say. He looked at her with a relaxed sort of expectation, which made it even worse. She felt a blush start creeping up her neck and wracked her brain for a way to begin, but he spoke first.

"Had enough for one night, then?" he asked.

At that, the blush engulfed her cheeks, making her gladder than ever for her mask. Rose didn't know if it was just her overactive imagination, but it seemed that Uncle Charlie always had a way of making innocent things sound… not innocent. 

She didn't answer; she just watched as he tilted the bottle to his lips and took a hearty sip. He seemed to be hiding a smile behind the action. He knew she wasn't enjoying herself. If he'd wanted to, he could have easily said, _Should have listened to your old man, yeah?_

"So what are you into, like, whips and chains and stuff?" Rose blurted out.

For a split second, his eyes did widen behind the mask. But then they immediately narrowed. "Are you drunk?" he asked, glancing down at the red drink she held in her hand.

"No," she snapped peevishly, though she was a tiny bit buzzed. "Answer the question."

She could see his eyes flickering over her face, trying to read what he could of her expression. Then he took another drink and set his bottle on the table, as carefully as if he were stacking the last card in an elaborate card house. He turned more fully towards her, and Rose felt his thumb brush over her shoulder. "Sure," he said at last, the corner of his lip twitching. "If I’ve got them lying around. Why not?"

"Really?" Rose squeaked, before she could help herself. She quickly covered it with a derisive snort. "You get off on being called ‘sir’ or something?"

Again she felt his thumb, this time brushing against the bare skin just inside her neckline, and she jumped at the touch. "Can’t hurt," he said. "Though I always thought ‘master’ had a nicer ring to it."

At that, Rose took a gulp of her own drink, maybe a little too enthusiastically in her nervousness. Some of it splashed onto the bodice of her dress. Uncle Charlie’s eyes immediately went to the spill, his free hand digging a handkerchief from his pocket. She froze, thinking for a moment that he might actually try to dry it himself. But he just handed it to her with a faint grin.

She set the drink on the table with a shaky hand and dabbed at the spill. Now she felt she had to say something really shocking to make up for her sudden clumsiness. "And no doubt you're into… you know…." She couldn't get the word out. She just couldn't. It was right there, but she couldn't say it to her uncle. But then he lifted one eyebrow at her hesitation, and she had no choice. "Blow jobs," she practically spat, as though they were the most distasteful thing in the world, when in reality, she'd always kind of wanted to try it. One of her friends had said they could be sexy if the guy made sounds and stuff. 

She wondered what kinds of sounds Uncle Charlie would make.

She noticed, with a flash of triumph, that his ears were bright red. Any embarrassment he might be feeling, however, didn't reach his voice. "Oh yeah," he practically purred. "I love blow jobs." 

His gaze dropped to her lips. And Rose realized, with a start, that he hadn't been about to kiss her at all back in the playhouse. He'd been looking at her lips for a very different reason. Blimey, she was out of her league here. She started getting wet at that thought and gripped the sides of her chair, squeezing her legs together. His whole hand now cupped her shoulder, that maddening thumb rubbing small circles where it met her neck. 

"You ever have sex in public?" she asked, the question tumbling out of her mouth without any permission from her brain.

"Yep," he replied without any hesitation.

Rose swallowed thickly. "Like, at a party?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "How about you?"

"Oh yeah, loads of times," Rose said with a wave of her hand. "Just a few months ago, in fact, Donnie Finnegan had a flat-warming party. I mean, nothing big. His flat isn’t huge or anything. Maybe twenty people. Probably more like fifty. And I ended up having sex in his hall closet. It's a big closet," she added at Uncle Charlie's skeptical look. "He has lots of big closets. Apparently that was a selling point because it's actually in a rather dodgy part of town, but Donnie Finnegan's a little dodgy himself, so it all works out well."

Damn, she was rambling again. It wasn't quite a lie. Donnie did have a flat-warming party, and Rose did end up snogging Maurice Boot in the hall closet on a dare. She'd even let him get his hand up her shirt before their time was up, though it hadn't been the best experience. He'd squeezed her breasts a little too hard in his excitement.

"I bet that was a sight to see," Uncle Charlie said.

Rose couldn't tell if he was making fun of her. "I've had lots of boyfriends, you know," she said defensively. Another lie. She’d had one boyfriend. One. Seventh year, for about eleven days, thirteen hours, and twenty-eight minutes, right after Easter holidays.

"Oh, I don't doubt it." He was using the purring voice again, which made it hard to be mad at him, even if he was making fun of her. 

Then he shifted his chair a little closer, and his hand moved into her hair, his thumb rubbing over and over the bone at the nape of her neck. The feeling shot straight down her spine. She bounced her legs, just to keep from grinding against her chair to relieve the tension between them. 

She didn't know if this was still only a challenge on his end, but she knew they were crossing a line here. She had to wonder how far he'd go. 

And when she wondered, she got even wetter. She glanced around the ballroom to see if anyone was looking at them because Uncle Charlie didn't seem to care. Then again, she doubted anyone here knew him, and they were both wearing masks. True, her hair was auburn, but there were plenty of redheads in the wizarding world besides Weasleys, right? No one would suspect she was being fondled by her uncle. Right?

Could this be considered fondling? It was having the general effect she would expect from fondling.

"Yeah, I practically had to beat them off with a stick my last year of Hogwarts," she continued, unwilling to back down. 

"Huh," he grunted in reply.

"Sadly, I had to turn down a few dances tonight, too" she said. It was a really good thing there was no lightning in the area. "Married men. Didn’t want their wives to get jealous."

"Glad to hear you have standards, love," Uncle Charlie said. "That’s important."

Rose turned to look at him, expecting to see a condescending smile or a smirk, but he was staring at her lips again. "And do you like—" Her nerves caused her voice to catch. She couldn't believe she was about to ask her uncle this, but she wanted to know, so badly. "I mean, do you ever, er…" Her voice dropped. "…go down on women?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed, "sure do."

"Really." The word lost all intonation of a question at the look in his eyes. "Do you… like it?" Some of her friends said their boyfriends didn’t like it. They thought it was gross. Rose didn’t see how it couldn’t be gross. 

"I love it," he replied, with relish.

She closed her eyes, nearly panting. She bet Uncle Charlie would be really good at it. His thumb started its gentle torture again, and she leaned into the touch, wishing she could feel it all over.

"Maybe we’re into the same kinds of things after all," she said dreamily.

"That so?" He outright laughed, and Rose realized her error.

"That’s not what I meant!" she exclaimed, her eyes snapping open. "I meant that I like having it—" She broke off in a gasp. Out of nowhere, Uncle Charlie’s free hand was on her knee. His thumb began working in counterpoint to the one on the back of her neck.

'I think it’s my turn to ask some questions, don’t you, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," Rose managed to get out. "Okay."

He ran his fingers along the top of her thigh, right underneath the hem of her dress. "You ever been fingered under a table before?"

Rose felt like she couldn't get enough air. "Once or twice," she lied, again glancing around the ballroom. His hand was hidden under the tablecloth, but it had to be obvious what he was doing. Everyone knew; they must have known.

The thought absolutely thrilled her.

At the same time, she couldn't let him touch her. She wanted it so badly, but more than anything, she was humiliated by how wet she was. What they were doing here was a game — part of her understood that — but if he found out how it was really affecting her, the entire game would be blown apart. Even worse, he would stop; she knew he would.

His hand slipped beneath her dress, and Rose pressed her legs together. It didn't stop him. She started wondering if anything would, and that thought just made her even hotter. It was a struggle not to move her hips as he ran one fingertip lightly up and down the crease between her legs, from her knee to the tops of her stockings.

Then he leaned in, speaking directly in her ear. "You ever been spanked?" he asked, like it was the most normal question ever.

"W-what do you mean?" Rose squeaked, though she knew exactly what he meant. 

With every stroke, his fingertip reached a little higher.

"I mean," he rumbled in her ear, "have any of those many boyfriends of yours ever taken you over their knee and pulled your knickers down and worn your arse out for being such a naughty little girl?"

Rose had to grip the edge of the table with both hands for support. This was it. This was officially the most turned on she'd ever been in her life. Suddenly, she didn't give a damn about how wet she was. And if Uncle Charlie was going to sit there and say things like that, she doubted he did, either. 

Her legs fell apart in defeat.

"Well, I— yeah. I mean, I’ve… yeah, a f-few times."

"Yeah?" She expected him to take full advantage of her surrender, but he just kept lightly tracing his fingertips over the tops of her stockings. She was almost afraid of what he might ask next, and even Uncle Charlie hesitated for a moment. Finally, his voice dropping to a whisper, he asked, "You ever been been fucked up against a wall, so fast and hard that you couldn’t walk straight for a week afterwards?"

Rose slammed her palm on the table. "Hell, yes," she blurted out. "That’s… that’s the best."

"Right," he said.

Rose was outright trembling. She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't believe Uncle Charlie's fingers were a hair away from discovering what a dirty, shameless girl she really was. It was torture trying to sit still.

"I want you to listen real close, and I'm going to tell you what kinds of things I'm _not_ into, yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," Rose panted, nearly out of her mind from the pressure building in her pelvis.

"I’m not into making love or some such nonsense." As he said it, his fingers moved to trace the edge of her knickers along the top of her leg. Rose fisted the tablecloth, the drinks precariously sliding forward. 

"I’m not into sticking around England any longer than I have to," he continued. "I’m leaving for Romania in the morning, and I probably won’t be back for a long time. And nothing’s going to change my mind about that." He paused. Rose's heart thudded so hard that he simply must have been able to hear it.

"And this is all irrelevant anyway where you’re concerned," he said. "You know why?"

Rose could manage nothing more than a single shake of her head. She couldn't believe no one was watching them. She couldn't believe no one knew what they were doing. 

Then, out of nowhere, his hands stilled. "Because if your parents thought I’d so much as looked at you the wrong way tonight," he said, "our whole family would have my balls for breakfast. And by the time your mum was finished with me, I wouldn’t even remember I’d ever had balls to begin with. You understand that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah," Rose replied, desperately wanting him to go back to what he'd been doing.

His fingers dipped under the edge of her knickers, but just as quickly they were gone, back to rubbing circles on the inside of her thigh. Rose didn't know which was more maddening at this point: his fingers or his breath against the shell of her ear.

"Now, you must think I’m blind if you think I haven’t seen the way you’ve been looking at me for years," he rambled on. Rose didn't even have the presence of mind to feel shame. "And I don’t know what that little stunt was all about, back in the playhouse. But I’ll say this. Either you’ve been teasing me all night because you think I won’t do anything about it. Or you’ve been hoping I will. And you are very close to getting your answer, young lady." His fingers finally dipped all the way beneath her knickers. Rose felt like she might come right out of her skin. But he merely brushed them across the top of her mound. "Dangerously close."

"I want it," Rose practically cried out. "Please, I want it."

"You want it?"

"Yes."

Suddenly he slipped his hand out from under her dress. Rose nearly whined at the loss. She turned her head to find him downing the rest of his ale. He slammed the bottle down, causing her to jump.

Then he stood, taking a quick look around the ballroom and adjusting his robes.

He looked down with a smirk.

"Well, come on, then," he said, nodding towards the door.

* * *

Rose couldn’t believe this was happening. Uncle Charlie led her through the crowded ballroom with his hand on the small of her back, a steady pressure propelling her forward. It seemed impossible to her that no one knew they were leaving this party to go have sex, but the guests just chattered on, oblivious.

Moments before, with his hand up her dress, Rose had never wanted anything more. But now that they were getting closer to wherever he was taking her — _to have sex_ — she felt as though something heavy was lodged in the back of her throat. Like in a dream, every step she took felt weighted.

"Where are we going?" she croaked as they moved into the large hallway. She wondered if he would take her to his hotel room. Somehow, she had never imagined doing this with Uncle Charlie in a bed. He didn't seem like a bed sort of bloke to her. That was admittedly part of his appeal.

"Somewhere close," he replied, steering her down a corridor. Several guests gave them curious looks, but Uncle Charlie ignored them, striding along like he owned the place.

"But don't you think—"

"Nope," he cut across her tersely. "I'm done thinking."

Rose tried not to whimper. This wasn't a game anymore. She'd said she wanted it, and he was a grown man, accustomed to doing this with women who didn't suddenly change their minds. Women with experience. She was really in this now, and she'd just have to hope he didn't notice how truly inexperienced she was.

They went down a narrow staircase and turned into another corridor. The air was cooler, the sounds from the party drifting away until all Rose could hear was her own heartbeat in her ears. She started to wonder if he knew where he was going when he stopped, trying a door on their left.

"In here," he said, finding it unlocked.

Rose hovered on the threshold. It was a small pantry of sorts, empty except for a few buckets and stacks of large, stuffed burlap sacks against one wall. The walls and floor were in slate tile, a single unlit sconce near the low ceiling. "It's, er… a pantry."

"What were you expecting, a suite with a garden tub?" he said.

He had a point, but his tone stung. Then again, how could he know what this meant to her? She'd just sat there and lied about having sex in a hall closet. Part of her wanted to admit to her lie, wanted him to know what an important moment this was to her. But she knew he would never go through with it if she did.

"Of course not," she snapped, moving inside. "It's fine."

Uncle Charlie entered behind her, the sconce flaring to life. He waved his wand over the door, locking and silencing it, and turned to her with a strange look in his eyes. Perhaps it was Rose's imagination, but he suddenly seemed unsure. 

"Right," he said at last, slipping his wand back inside his robes. "First things first." He took her handbag from her and tossed it onto the burlap sacks. "Get rid of those knickers."

So much for him seeming unsure. "How is that ‘first things first’?" Rose said. True, she'd never done this before, but she'd been expecting a little more buildup. Not that her knickers weren't already drenched from his teasing in the ballroom. But it didn't seem fair for him to have proof of that, when he'd given her no sign of his own arousal. If he was, indeed, aroused.

This could easily be another game; although, if it was, it was uncharacteristically cruel of him.

He gave her a wicked smile and lowered his voice. "Only two things have to be naked here," he said. "Come on. Hand them over." 

Rose stared down at his large, calloused hand. "You want me to—"

"Take off your knickers and hand them to me," he said, enunciating every word. "Yes. Now do it."

She looked up at what she could see of his face. The corner of his lip twitched. He obviously thought she was going to chicken out. _Screw that_ , she thought, even as she trembled. He wanted her knickers? Fine, he could have them. He'd already seen them. Already had his hands on them, too.

Her eyes on his, Rose reached up under her dress and hooked her thumbs under the waistband, wriggling them down over her hips. She had some trouble getting them over her heels and reached out to steady herself on that impossibly solid arm of his. He didn't flinch.

When they were finally off, she balled them in her hands, trying to work the really slick part into the center of the ball. Then, with her chin raised, she stuffed them into his outstretched hand.

Predictably, he immediately unballed them, running his thumb over and over the crotch. "Soaked," he said. He chuckled, shaking his head, exactly as he'd done in the playhouse, and Rose felt the same sense of unbearable shame wash over her.

It was too much. She couldn't just stand there and watch Uncle Charlie laugh at her, not like this. With a huff, she went for her bag, fully prepared to walk out and leave him there.

And immediately found her back against the wall. 

She gasped, unable to believe he could move that quickly. In less than a blink, he had her caged between his arms, his palms flattened against the wall by her shoulders. He moved his hand just long enough to stuff the knickers in his pocket. Then he leaned in, voice low. "You been creaming your knickers all night for your Uncle Charlie, hmm?"

Oh. Whoa. Now she should _really_ be ashamed, and she was, but something strange happened. Her shame started turning her on. He made it sound sexy. Was that normal, or had she just gone totally off her rocker here?

"Dirty little girl," he whispered, right in her ear. 

Rose whimpered. She _was_ dirty. He didn't know the half of it. She bet he'd be shocked if he knew some of the things she'd thought about him. She shocked herself sometimes.

Uncle Charlie pulled back to look at her, tilting his head to the side. "What you need is a good, hard spanking," he said. "And maybe I’ll give you one before the night’s over. One for every year you’ve been checking me out. How many you reckon that would be? Five? Seven?" He smirked. "Ten? Granted, that’s not many. Barely enough to make my palm sting."

Rose was humiliated by his tone, by the fact that he knew how long she'd had a crush on him. Yet the thought of Uncle Charlie bending her over his lap only made her wetter. "You wouldn’t spank me," she said. She was really starting to wonder about that, though. 

"Why not? Turns you on, right? That’s not what I want to do right now, though." He paused for a moment, his jaw clenched. Then, dropping his voice, he said, "Right now I want you to take my cock out."

It was another test. It had to be. Rose had never had her hands on a real, actual cock. She and Roxy had handled plenty of dildos in the back of Uncle George's warehouse, giggling and gasping the whole time. But a real cock, all hard and with balls hanging under it and everything? And connected to an actual man? Who also happened to be her uncle? That was a seriously big test.

"Just like that?" she said, stalling for time.

He raised one eyebrow. "Can’t fuck you with it in my pants, can I?"

Rose swallowed thickly. "So we’re going to… to fuck now?" She hated how high-pitched her voice sounded. She hated the way she tripped over the word 'fuck.'

"Mm-hmm." He licked a trail up her neck, from her collarbone to her earlobe. A surprised _ah!_ escaped her throat. "You said you liked it like this, right? Hard and fast against the wall? So do I. A lot. In fact, I’m likely to get carried away." He hummed against her ear. "Really give it to you good."

She shivered in excitement at the idea. The reality, however, was downright terrifying, especially considering the circumstances. But he wouldn't really do it; she knew he wouldn't.

Would he?

"Come on, Rose. I’m starting to lose my patience here," he said sharply. "This is what you wanted, right? This is how the big boys play."

"I know how the big boys play!" she snapped.

He pulled back, staring her straight in the eyes. "Then get my cock out."

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" Rose asked, unable to mask the whinge in her voice. Test or not, it just didn’t seem fair of him to ask this without at least giving her a kiss. Bloody hell, he hadn't touched her at all since he'd closed and locked that door behind them. Not with his hands anyway. Was she going to end up doing all the work here?

"We'll get to the kissing soon enough," he said. "Get my cock out. Now."

Rose could tell that he wouldn't ask again. And she had no doubt that, if she failed to do this, he'd call the whole thing off. With a deep breath, she went to work on the many buttons of his robe. Her fingers shook embarrassingly, but she finally got them all undone and pushed the robe aside. 

She gasped. He wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, only the matching trousers. She'd never seen Uncle Charlie without a shirt on, and now she knew why. His torso was covered in stylized tattoos, some of them black enough to be brand new. Grandma would have taken one look and flat out died. 

And his abs. Honestly, the men in porno mags weren't this ripped, and they were a good twenty years younger, at least. And he had chest hair. Lots of it just under his collarbone, red and wiry. Rose stared. The hair thinned out under his sternum and thickened again under his navel, forming a trail—

"Rose." 

She jumped, meeting his eye. He wasn't smiling. He looked more serious than she'd ever seen Uncle Charlie look.

"Continue," he said.

She looked back down. He was hard. She could now clearly see the bulge in the front of his trousers. It was that sight that gave her courage. She'd done that to him. Maybe he was playing a game here, trying to call her bluff. But he was clearly as affected by all of this as she was.

And she really wanted to see what he was packing. She'd never had her hands on a real cock. But she'd never seen one, either. That time she walked in on Hugo in the bathroom didn't count because, hello, scarred for life.

She unfastened the buttons of his trousers — there were four, no zipper — and pushed the flies aside. Then, taking a deep breath, she curled her fingers under the waistband of his navy blue pants and pulled them down.

And there it was. Her Uncle Charlie's cock. It was magnificent. Terrifying and magnificent. Not really as big as she'd imagined, but there was no doubt she was going to feel it. The thought made her press her legs together.

"That enough for you, sweetheart?"

Rose could hear the smile in his voice, but from the corner of her eye, she could also see his arms shaking. He hadn't believed she would do it.

"I've had bigger," she replied, though the taunt was lost in the hushed reverence of her voice.

"Hmm. Well, I’ve never had any complaints," he said. "Not about it being too small anyway. A few times it didn't quite fit." His lips moved back to her ear. "But I just made it fit."

Rose bit into her bottom lip. She couldn't figure out how something so scary could turn her on so much. 

"Well?" His breath was against her neck now, hot and moist. "Wrap your hand around it."

He couldn't be serious. Absurdly, the thought of her parents crossed her mind. She could just see them sitting around the living room at home: Mum reading, Dad carving chess pieces, both of them wondering if she was having a good time, neither of them having a clue that she was seconds from having her hand on Uncle Charlie's cock. "Yeah?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Go on."

Curiosity, more than anything, had her working his pants down his hips. What could it really hurt to cop a little feel? She reached out and lightly touched her fingertips to the head. It twitched, and she gasped. Then she realized that a girl of her self-proclaimed experience would not be so hesitant, no matter whose cock it was. So she wrapped her fingers around it and gave it a tentative squeeze.

Uncle Charlie cursed under his breath, his hand wrapping around hers, stopping her. But after an incredibly long moment, he began guiding her. "Yeah." Now his voice sounded strangled. "Like that, just like that." He let go, and they both looked down, watching him slide through the tight circle of her fingers.

Rose stared, mesmerized, as he pumped his hips into the motion. He was so hard, but the skin that loosely slid along his length was soft as a petal. She marveled at the way the skin moved, the head of his cock disappearing underneath it on every stroke, only to reappear glistening.

"You ready?" he panted.

She let go as though she'd been burned. "What?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed handfuls of her dress, bunching it up around her waist. He reached down and grasped one of her legs behind the knee, anchoring it around his hips. Rose really had no choice but to go with the motion. At least that's what she told herself because chickening out now seemed too pathetic for words.

"I could give you a blow job first," she squeaked. She was nowhere near ready. Uncle Charlie, however, looked like he'd never been readier in his whole life. "If you want," she added.

He pressed up against her, his mouth moving rhythmically over her neck. Rose could feel his cock sliding over her belly, his balls rubbing against her mound. And even as scared as she was, she couldn't help grinding back.

"Tempting," he mumbled. "Let's save that for later. Right now I just want to pound that wet little cunt." The crude word went straight to said area of her body. "Go ahead. Line me up." He hummed against her jaw. "Wet as you are, I'm gonna be balls deep in one good thrust."

"Shouldn't we take our masks off?" Rose asked hysterically.

He pulled back to look at her mask, his hips still moving. "I don't know, I kinda like ‘em," he said with a small shrug. But then he was all business again. "Now line me up, or I'll do it myself."

"But…" She was running out of excuses here, and he knew it. "But what about…."

"What about what?" he snapped, now sounding impatient.

"You know…" How to phrase it? "I'm not on any kind of potion," she settled for at last. "And you haven't done any kind of spells." And Merlin's beard, they were related.

He just smiled and attacked her neck again with his mouth. "Not to worry," he murmured. "My wand hasn't had a core for years, so to speak." He chuckled. "Whatever you do, don’t tell your grandma that."

Rose closed her eyes. This was it. He had an answer for everything, and there was nothing else she could think of to stop him. And as much as she had fantasized about Uncle Charlie — about this very moment — the reality just wasn't quite the same.

The reality was that she was about to have sex here.

Then, out of nowhere, he pulled back. "But actually, now that I think about it…" He trailed off, fingers scratching at his stubble. He dropped her leg and stepped back. Her dress, ridiculously, stayed where it was, and he just stood there, staring at the general area between her legs.

"I’m not really sold on this position," he said at last. Then he gave her a truly wicked grin. "Normally I like my birds on all fours," he said. He took her by the hand and steered her towards the burlap sacks. They were stacked as high as the top of her stockings. She watched in excited horror as he tested their solidity with the heel of his palm. "Perfect. Turn around for me, yeah?" 

Before she could protest, he'd spun her around.

"That’s it, gorgeous, now put your hands flat on those sacks and bend over for Uncle Charlie."

It wasn't a request. His hands were busy moving her into the exact position he wanted. "Come on, let me see that pretty arse," he purred, hiking her dress up over it. "Fuck yeah, that's it." Then he gave her a not-so-gentle slap. One on each cheek. 

Rose cried out in surprise. She was terrified of what was coming, yet her body didn't seem to be on the same wavelength. She was on fire between her legs, her wetness practically dripping down her thighs.

"Arch your back," he continued, his voice sounding foreign to her. He kicked her feet apart and pressed on the small of her back until she couldn't possibly get more exposed to him. "Oh yeah. You ready, love?"

"Uncle Charlie, _I’veneverdonethisbefore_!"

The words left her in a rush, immediately followed by a dry sob. She didn't think she'd ever been as humiliated as she was to admit that to him at that moment. She reached up and jerked her dress down, fighting tears. She never wanted to turn around.

Uncle Charlie heaved a sigh. He turned her around and lifted her onto the sacks so that she sat facing him. Except she wasn't facing him at all. Her head was hung, her eyes on her twisting hands in her lap.

"Have you done any of the things you said you’d done?" he asked. His voice was gentle, but it didn't matter at this point. Bloody hell, she'd just had her arse in the air for him.

"No," she admitted freely. She struggled not to cry. She hated to cry. Her mum cried at the drop of a hat, and it had always gotten on her nerves. "I did snog a boy in Donnie Finnegan’s hall closet on a dare. He put his hand up my shirt, but that’s it." She grasped the sacks at her sides, idly wondering what was in them. "But it’s not like I don’t know about sex," she added defensively. "I’ve… you know… read stuff. And… seen pictures. I've seen lots of pictures, I know about all types of positions and all kinds—"

His mask fell onto the sack beside her, and Rose broke off, looking up at last. He put his hands on either side of her and leaned down. And just like that, her uncle was back.

"Why did you lie to me, Rose?"

Why would he ask such a question? Did she really have to say it? She buried her face in her hands. She was so ashamed, but she was also angry with herself for stopping him. Any pain or disappointment couldn't possibly have been worse than this. She could already feel him gearing up for a heartfelt speech about how young she was, how normal, how many chances she would have with boys her own age….

"Rose."

She dropped her hands in defeat. "Because I knew you wouldn’t do it if you knew the truth!" Her voice rang out in the small space, but Uncle Charlie didn't flinch. He didn't offer a reply, either, so she went on, "And I wanted to do it. I _want_ to do it." She dropped her voice. "Just not where I can’t even see you."

She could see his jaw working. At some point he'd pulled his pants back up, though his flies still hung open. "But you’ve got no problem doing it in a bloody pantry. With your uncle."

"You haven't really acted like a typical uncle tonight, have you?" She didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but honestly, he had a lot of nerve, considering all they'd already done.

He cursed under his breath, straightening up and refastening his trousers. 

"No, no, wait!" Her hands flew to his wrists. "Don't you understand? I don’t care where we do it. I want it to be with you. I always wanted it to be with you." The moment the words left her mouth, Rose realized how sick they sounded. Desperate, too. "Bloody hell, that’s so messed up. You probably think I’m a huge freak."

He visibly softened. "Rose," he said quietly, cupping his hand over her shoulder. She jerked unconsciously at the touch, but he kept it there, moving his thumb in circles. "I could never think you’re a freak, love." 

She snorted. Easy for him to say. He had no idea of the things that went on in her head. Then again, he'd said some fairly freaky things himself tonight.

He kept silently rubbing her shoulder, his eyes narrowed. Part of her just knew he was trying to figure out how to let her down easy, and she wished he'd do it already, and do it without the speech that was supposed to make her feel better about it all.

She was never going to feel any better.

Finally, he took a deep breath, his thumb stilling. "Don’t you think you’re selling yourself short here?" he asked, and something in his voice made her look up. He sounded like he was considering it.

Her heartbeat skyrocketed right back to where it had been.

His thumb returned to rubbing circles, but this time it dipped beneath the edge of her neckline, the pressure of his caress increasing ever so slightly. 

"No," Rose replied. "You think some boy my age is going to make it good for me?" She wet her lips, feeling a thrill when his eyes followed the motion. "I know you will." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I know you won't hurt me."

At that, he bent down again so that they were eye-to-eye. "No, you don’t." He raised one eyebrow, a little menacingly. "You don't know that."

Just like that, she was on fire again. That was it, right there. That was why she'd always wanted Uncle Charlie. Honestly, now that he knew her secret, Rose thought she might let him do anything he wanted to her. Anything. 

"Please, Uncle Charlie," she whispered. She crossed her fingers at her sides. 

She could see him grinding his teeth. He looked away for a moment, studying the opposite wall. Then he stood up, dragging his hand over his face and releasing a heavy sigh.

Rose held her breath.

"Take your mask off," he said.

It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either. Rose pulled the mask off slowly, wincing as it took more than a few hairs along with it.

Uncle Charlie held his hand out to her. "Come here," he said.

She obeyed, knees shaking and heart hammering as she slipped her hand into his. 

He stared down at her hand for what felt like about ten years, his thumb rubbing over and over her fingers. Then he met her eye, and his expression softened, his shoulders relaxing. "Come here," he repeated, this time barely above a whisper, and he pulled her into an embrace. 

Rose figured the hug was a brush-off, but if it was all she was going to get, she wanted to make it count. She threw her arms around him and flattened her cheek against his chest. Uncle Charlie hugged her as he’d never done before, and she clung to him, half joyful and half miserable, grabbing fistfuls of his robe. She wanted to scream that he was absolutely perfect to her, that she’d always, always wanted him.

He smelled so good to her, just his natural smell. Rose wanted to remember this forever: the way his chest hair ticked her nose, the way his heart thudded against her cheek. He ran one hand soothingly up and down her back, and she clenched her jaw, tears pricking her eyes. 

"Rose, you sweet thing," he whispered to her, and she hated and loved him for it at the same time. Only minutes before, she’d been a dirty little girl. That was the girl Uncle Charlie had wanted, and it was frustrating to her that she couldn’t be both.

He slipped one hand into her hair, massaging her neck, and she could feel him kissing the top of her head, still breathing endearments into her hair. Too soon, he started to relax his hold on her. She let go resentfully, her throat burning. His hands cupped her face, and he planted a feather-light, condescending kiss against the tip of her nose.

What could she do about it? Rose gritted her teeth.

His lips went to her cheek, giving her a long, close-lipped kiss. "Ah Rose," he breathed at last. He pulled back, his gaze on his fingers as he pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. She saw his eyes find her lips. She only had a split-second to register the surreal fact that Uncle Charlie was about to kiss her, and then his parted lips touched hers. 

The kiss was dry, soft, almost as though he were afraid to do more. But when Rose tentatively touched her tongue to his lips, he snapped. He closed his mouth over hers in a rhythm that felt more like sex than kissing, or at least what she'd always imagined sex would feel like. He coaxed her with his tongue, humming into the kiss. 

Rose had dreamed about this for as long as she could remember. For once, the reality was so much better. It was unbelievable. Her hands fumbled to push his robes out the way, to get her fingers on every bit of skin she could reach. Just as her head started to spin and her knees weaken, Uncle Charlie broke the kiss, breathing harshly against her jaw. He jerked her closer. His hands moved to her back, and then she felt them working at her zipper, heard the sound of the metal once again as he lowered it.

"Take this off," he bit out. 

She nearly ripped it in her haste to comply. He clawed at the clasp of her bra, both of them tearing at the garment. When she was wearing nothing but her stockings and heels, she reached for him. But he grabbed her wrists and held her arms out, his eyes all over her. 

"Bloody hell," he panted. "Look at you."

Before she had time to feel self-conscious, he shrugged out of his robe and crushed her against him again. Things started moving in a blur. His hands were everywhere. His mouth worked over her neck and down to her breasts, lips sucking greedily at one nipple while his fingers pinched the other.

Rose had never felt so much sensation at once. She was mindless with it, grinding herself wantonly against him, probably soaking his trousers. He mouthed his way up her neck and began kissing her again in that hungry rhythm that felt like pure desperation.

Rose was desperate all right. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. Scared he might have a sudden fit of conscience, she broke away to demand from him, "Are we really going to do this?"

"Oh yeah," he gasped. "I’ll burn in hell for it, no doubt, but fuck it." And with that, he picked her up like she weighed nothing.

Rose squeaked, wrapping her legs around his waist. He laid her down on the burlap sacks lengthwise, and she immediately scrambled onto her elbows, eyes wide. He hooked his hands behind her knees and pulled her forward until her arse was nearly hanging off the edge. 

She expected him to undo his trousers at any second, but he didn't. Instead he spread her legs so wide she could feel her muscles straining. He stared down at her exposed bits, licking his lips.

"What a pretty little quim," he said, with a wicked smirk.

Rose's face went up in flames, both at the word and at being so completely exposed to him. At least she'd trimmed down there — she always did before a big event, just in case — and she'd even used some of the apple-scented lotion that Lily had given her for her birthday. "Are you just going to look at me?" she said, feeling self-conscious.

He chuckled. "Nope." He reached down and grabbed one of the buckets, flipping it over for a makeshift seat, making his intentions clear. "I’m going to do a lot more than look." Rose watched, her heart hammering at her ribs, as he slipped her heels off and dropped them to the floor. 

"Put your feet right here." He lifted her feet and propped her heels against the edge. The position bent her knees back to the point that Rose couldn't imagine it would look sexy to him, but Uncle Charlie's eyes were heavy-lidded as he stared down at her. When he spoke, his voice came out raspy. "Keep those legs spread," he said. "Just as wide as you can."

Then he leaned in, and with a wink up at her, he gave her a slow, light lick, right against her clit.

Rose yelped, reflexively clamping her thighs around his head. Uncle Charlie pushed them right back apart with a quiet grunt, holding them down with his thick forearms as he spread her open with his thumbs. 

Then he started to lick in earnest.

As earth-shatteringly incredible as it felt, Rose couldn’t get over how strange he looked with his face between her legs. She was torn between her curiosity to watch him and painful embarrassment over what he was doing. His eyes met hers, and embarrassment won out. She reached for him, wanting to proceed with the real thing before she did something humiliating like wet his whole face with her arousal.

He batted her hands out of the way. "Relax," he whispered. 

So much easier said than done. She lay back against the sack, closing her eyes. He picked up where he’d left off, and Rose trembled, wanting to move against his mouth but not wanting to get him messy or cut off his air supply. Then his tongue did something to the most sensitive part of her clit, and she bucked up against him without conscious thought.

Uncle Charlie just moaned, his fingers digging into her thighs.

It seemed impossible that he could be enjoying this, but when she ground her hips into the motion of his mouth, he growled and licked her even more enthusiastically. Yet she needed more, and she didn’t know what. He went on and on, and Rose could feel herself oozing, probably drenching the sack beneath her and whatever was in it, too. Once again, she felt consumed by embarrassment, by desperation.

"Uncle Charlie," she practically sobbed, "I can't—"

Rose broke off in a gasp as she felt one of his fingers nudge against her entrance. She'd never done that to herself. He gently slipped it inside her, and she shouted a curse when it stroked a sensitive place, his tongue mercilessly working her in counterpoint.

She couldn’t believe it. She was going to come. She could feel it. She’d never come in front of anyone else, but her whole body started tensing in anticipation. She could do nothing but abandon herself entirely to it. She pumped her hips, thinking about what he’d said to her — about making his cock fit, about pounding her… her wet _cunt_ — and she exploded.

Then there was no keeping her legs open. She clamped her thighs around Uncle Charlie’s head and rode out the spasms against his mouth, shouting over each one. She could feel herself soaking him, and still his tongue and finger worked her until every muscle in her body was jelly.

She collapsed, spent, legs splayed shamelessly.

"Whoa," she gasped. 

Uncle Charlie hummed, lapping at her soaked folds, the insides of her thighs, as though he wanted to drink every drop. He kissed his way up her body, stopping to suckle a nipple, pausing to nip at her collarbone. And then he was kissing her mouth, and Rose was so bonelessly satisfied that she didn’t even think to find it weird. His tongue thrust against hers, coated with her wetness. It was sticky, tangy, heavy; surprisingly, she found it wasn't a disagreeable taste at all.

As he kissed her, she registered his hand reaching between them and felt his jerky motions as he worked the buttons of his trousers free one-handed and pushed them down over his hips. Then, suddenly, the head of his cock was teasing her. This was it. He traced the length of her slit with it, up and down, circling it over her clit. The latter felt so good that Rose raised her hips into the touch. 

At that, he broke the kiss, watching her face so closely that it was hard not to look away. She didn’t know what to do or say, if anything. She couldn't believe he wasn't asking her if she was ready, asking if she had second thoughts. Not that he needed to ask either question. Her body was practically buzzing from her climax and her only thoughts were those of eagerness and wonder.

In fact, Uncle Charlie looked more wary than she felt. His jaw was clenched tightly, his nostrils flaring at moments, his arm shaking where he held himself up. Rose hesitantly reached up and ran her fingers through his short hair, noting with interest the way it grayed at the hairline, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the deep lines stretching nearly to his temples.

He was so perfect to her. She wished there was some way to tell him that, some way that didn't sound childish or sappy. It wasn't right, what she felt for him. She knew that. Again her throat tightened and her eyes burned. "Please," she whispered, meeting his eye.

It must have been what he was waiting for. With a long, heavy exhale, he leaned his forehead against hers and started to push forward. It was difficult not to clench at the intrusion. "Try to relax," he said, very softly.

Rose nodded, letting her legs falls open, letting all her muscles relax. He made tiny, gentle thrusts, each one sending him marginally deeper inside her. It was fine; in fact, it was kind of good. Then, on the next thrust, she felt a stinging pressure. "Ah!" she exclaimed, reflexively tightening up.

"You're all right, you're all right," Uncle Charlie whispered. He pulled back slightly, though his hips continued that gentle pumping motion. He gave her a soft kiss on the apple of her cheek. "You're fine."

His tone eased her, and as she grew more accustomed to the pressure, she began to lift her hips to meet him. Slowly, the thrusts grew deeper and deeper. Then she felt his pubic bone against her mound and gasped.

"Okay?" he said.

Rose nodded almost frantically. She was having sex. She couldn't believe she was having sex. She didn't even quite know how it had happened, but he was undoubtedly buried now, carefully easing his whole length in and out of her. She smiled up at him, and he released a low moan, giving her the deepest kiss yet, all tongue and teeth and desperate breath.

He lowered himself onto his forearm, his other hand palming her breast. He rolled his thumb over and over the hard nipple until it became so sensitive that she broke the kiss and threw her head back, moaning. Maybe he wasn't 'into making love', but he had no trouble doing just that. Once again, Rose felt besieged by sensation, his mouth and hands seeming to work all over her at once. 

"Ah, sweetheart," he whispered against the shell of her ear. "You feel so good, so good."

"So do you," Rose replied. There was still some slight discomfort where they were joined, but it was more perfect than she could have imagined, having his body against hers, inside hers. She reveled in the flex of his muscles, the meeting of their hips. She hummed at the drag of his chest hair against her nipples and the feeling of his stubble against her jaw and his breath in her ear. She'd never felt closer to anyone.

Yet she could tell he was holding back for her sake. His thrusts were slow and measured, his muscles tense under her hands. "Uncle Charlie," she said softly, admiring his strength and tenderness. With a soft moan, his lips closed around her earlobe. Maybe it was weird to still be calling him that, but that's who he was to her. "I'm okay," she said. "You don't have to hold back."

He stilled for a moment. Then he took another deep breath and lifted himself up. Rose gasped at the determined look on his face. He stood up and pulled her towards him by the hips, causing her to squeak embarrassingly. "You sure about that?" he rasped, picking up his pace slightly.

She nodded.

His thrusts grew more powerful, his gaze drifting down to where they were joined. Rose wished she could see it. "Fuck," he spat, "come here." She didn't know what he wanted until he began straightening her legs. His eyes met hers in a moment of hesitancy, and then he lifted her legs one at a time, placing her heels on his shoulders.

Rose gasped as his next thrust sent him much deeper. "All right?" he asked, his voice strained. 

"Yeah, yeah," she panted, though it bordered on painful. It wasn't bad pain, and it felt wicked, dirty, being bent like that. Uncle Charlie leaned forward over her, causing her to release a whinge as the muscles in her thighs stretched.

The sound only seemed to urge him on. And while she had enjoyed his initial tenderness, this was the man she had dreamed about. He pounded into her, mindlessly seeking his own pleasure, the sound of their slapping flesh filling the small space. His thrusts grew so hard that they began to hurt, yet somehow even that was sexy because she could tell he was close. She watched him greedily, in awe of the tense power of his body, transfixed by the almost vicious look on his face.

Then he stilled entirely, his mouth dropping open and eyes closing. And when he thrust again, Rose felt him come, felt the pulse of his cock inside her. She marveled at the sounds he made: breathy bursts of _'ah, ah, ah'_ in time with each thrust, much more high-pitched than his normal voice. She could feel him shaking in combined bliss and vulnerability. It was unreal to watch his response and even more unreal to know that she was the cause of it.

Finally he shrugged her legs off and bent over her on his forearms, panting. He still didn’t open his eyes, and Rose started to worry that he was already regretting it. Or worse, that it hadn’t been good for him. It seemed like it was, but how was she to know? "Uncle Charlie?" she said, unable to mask a note of panic in her voice.

His eyes flashed open, his hips giving what seemed to be an involuntary twitch, though she could feel him softening inside her. He stared down at her, his thumb rubbing over her cheek, his gaze searching every detail of her face without meeting her eye.

"Uncle Charlie, are you all right?"

"I’m better than all right," he whispered. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, watching the motion. Then, reluctantly, his gaze met hers. "Are you all right?"

Instead of answering, she pulled him down into a kiss, wanting to say with the kiss what she couldn’t with words. That she was more all right than she’d ever been in her life, and that she would never be all right again. It would never be like this again. She never wanted to get up, and she never wanted this night to be over. 

She ached to ask him if she could go back to his hotel room, but she knew she couldn’t, so she just kissed him harder. Even now, her dad was probably watching the clock. Her brain went through a batch of excuses that would allow her to spend the rest of the night with Uncle Charlie. She could say she and Uncle Charlie parted ways and she went to join up with her friends. She could even say she snuck away from him. But no, she couldn’t say any of that, really, because this went far beyond sneaking around behind her dad’s back.

Uncle Charlie pulled away from the kiss at last. Rose realized that they were no longer joined between the legs, either, and that she was dripping his come. He must have seen the look of discomfort on her face because he said, "Stay there," and gave her a quick peck before rising.

He pulled his pants up and quickly fastened his trousers. The finality of it seemed so horrible to her, but what else was he supposed to do? They couldn’t stay in this pantry all night. She watched as he scooped up his robes, fighting with the mass of fabric until he extricated his wand. He gave her a hesitant look, then pointing between her legs, said, "Just going to—"

He didn’t finish the thought but merely went to work. "So sex is pretty messy, eh?" Rose said, feeling both relieved and embarrassed.

"All part and parcel, love," he said with a chuckle. "Can you stand?"

"Of course I can stand," she said, rolling her eyes, though her legs were definitely shaky as she rose from the sacks and slipped her feet back into her heels. Predictably, the heels hurt. "Uncle Charlie, do you feel guilty?" she blurted out.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. "Rose."

"Seriously," she demanded, going for her bra. Her hands shook as she fastened it. "Because I don’t think we should feel guilty. I mean, some people might think this is highly unusual, and I suppose it is, but I asked you to, and I wanted it, and I don’t feel like you took advantage of me or anything like that, and I really enjoyed myself, and I thought you did, too, and I know we can’t tell anyone, and I know we can never do it again—" Her voice broke, and she stopped mid-ramble, grabbing her dress off the floor and stepping into it.

He didn’t say anything. She looked up to find him standing there calmly, hands still in his pockets. Even in the tenseness of the moment, she couldn’t help appreciate the sight of Uncle Charlie without a shirt on. "I enjoyed it, too," he said quietly. But there was some remorse there. Rose could hear it.

Despite everything in her telling her not to, she pushed. "You never gave me that spanking," she said.

At that, he scratched the back of his neck, looking at her from under his brows. "No, I didn’t."

_Don’t push,_ a voice inside her said. "And I never got to give you a blow job," she said, ignoring it.

Uncle Charlie dragged his hand over his face with a sigh. "Nope. You didn’t."

Their eyes met, and though he didn’t say it, there was no misreading what she saw there. He’d do this again. She was willing to bet anything. He felt really uneasy about it, but he’d do it again. And so would she. And they both knew it. 

Somehow, that thought was enough for her. She turned her back to him and looked over her shoulder. "Zip me up?"

His eyes traveled the length of her back. "You’re not going to change it back?" he asked, slipping back into his own robes.

Rose lifted her chin. "No, I don’t think I will." She glanced down at the pocket of his robes. "Are you going to give me back my knickers?"

"No," he said with a smile as he stepped forward to zip her up. "I don’t think I will."

_The End_


End file.
